How A Mother’s Love Really Does Change Everything

Sally Koslow’s new novel, THE WIDOW WALTZ, is about the bond between mother’s and daughters. Today Sally is sharing a bit of her story with her own mom with us. It’s a moving tribute to the things we take for granted when we’re young. And since we have a copy of THE WIDOW WALTZ up for grabs today (see entry form below) we’d would love to hear from you as well. What do you love and remember about your mother?

Sally Koslow

In my childhood, women baked in self-defense. If Fargo, North Dakota, had any bakeries, they must have been hidden in underground silos. If you wanted a decent dessert, you (a) drove 221 miles north to Winnipeg, (b) drove 235 miles southeast to Minneapolis or (c) greased a pan and pre-heated the oven to 350 degrees. Sensible women chose (c).

Until my mother detoured into Bundt-land–her default recipe featured instant pudding, vodka and Galliano— she prepared treats every Friday: pies; prune bread (sounds vile, tasted heavenly), a parade of cookies, bars and many cakes–airy angel food, heart-shaped layers for Valentine’s Day and sheet cakes crowned with broiled coconut or her mother’s seven-minute frosting.When I went off to college, Mom shipped me butterscotch oatmeal cookies in coffee cans. I suspect my boyfriend—now, husband–stuck around because he had a crush on the cookies, not me.

My mother never considered her baking special, so neither did I and spent my adolescence longing for a mom who spent more time buttering my ego while sharing wisdom to help me become irresistible to boys. I wanted CoCo-Chanel- meets-Jackie-O. What I got was a life member of Hadassah in orthopedic wedges with anklets whose hair-flair flatlined at pin curls and who, at the first rumble of stress, crashed with a migraine.

I yearned for a storybook mother-daughter relationship past the time I, too, became a mom. Then, abruptly, the fantasy imploded. I took my mother to a concert at the Metropolitan Museum which she insisted was the University of Minnesota, where she’d gone to college. I didn’t need a diagnosis of dementia–that came the next year–to guess what was happening, although Mom was younger than I am now. For the next few weeks, I couldn’t staunch my tears–for her tragedy and if I was being honest, for mine: the bond I dreamed of, measured by the high standards of my imagination, was never going to happen.

Soon, my mother forgot who I was. When we visited her new residence, a nursing home creepily decorated with patients’ childlike artwork, my husband and I tried to penetrate the maximum-security prison that is dementia. “Do you remember the recipe for those cookies you sent Sally at college?” he asked one afternoon. Recognition twinkled. “I forgot that recipe a long time ago,” my mom joked. It was the last coherent sentence I ever heard her utter.

Two years after my mother’s death, I had a dream. She was preparing Thanksgiving dinner and for dessert, she’d baked pumpkin pie, for which she gave me pointers: “Plain whipped cream has no taste. Always add vanilla and confectioners’ sugar.” As she showed me the amounts, her voice was strong and her demeanor, alive.

I woke with a smile. The dream was both hello and good-bye.

When a friend has a dinner party, I’m the one who always volunteers to bring dessert. As I bake, often from recipes in my mom’s handwriting, I hear her Marge accent that I left in Fargo. “Refrigerate the dough.” “Don’t make a crust if the kitchen’s muggy.” “Take the eggs out early to get to room temperature.” “When you measure, accuracy counts–baking depends on chemical reactions.” I’m back in our childhood kitchen. Outside, sun bounces off snowdrifts, but inside, it’s cozy, warmed by the legacy of my mother’s love.

* * *

Chosen by People and USA Today as a Great Summer Read

Georgia Waltz has an enviable life: a plush Manhattan apartment, a Hamptons beach house, two bright twenty-something daughters, and a seemingly perfect marriage. But when Ben dies suddenly, she discovers that her perfect lawyer-husband has left them nearly penniless. As Georgia scrambles to support the family, she and her daughters plumb for the grit required to reinvent their lives, and Georgia even finds that new love is possible in the land of Spanx.

Inspiring, funny, and deeply satisfying, The Widow Waltz is a compulsively readable tale of forgiveness, healing, and the bonds between mothers and daughters.

Ariel Lawhon is co-founder of the popular online book club, She Reads, a novelist, blogger, and life-long reader. She lives in the rolling hills outside Nashville, Tennessee with her husband and four young sons (aka The Wild Rumpus). Her novel, THE WIFE THE MAID AND THE MISTRESS, will be published in January 2014 by Doubleday. Ariel believes that Story is the shortest distance to the human heart.

What a nice story. Dealing with a loved one with dementia is hard. It’s a good thing to have some memories; especially, good ones. My husband’s mother has dementia, and he and his siblings are doing their best for her.

This sounds like a great story! I grew up on a dairy farm in Minnesota, my mom taught me how to bake and cook! My mom is now in a nursing home due to health reasons but she always comments on the food she eats and how she could do it better!!

Being a mom now myself- I now am amazed at everything my mom managed. She is an amazing cook, gardener, seamstress- she passed on the gardening bug to me but my skills in the other two departments lag way behind!!

I like to read about how people respond in times of difficulty and gauge their decisions against what I would do. This book seems like one where the widow must make tough decisions. I hope she finds fulfillment as she enters another phase of life. My mom is 92 and still mentally competent, despite her ongoing Parkinson’s Disease. The best memories I have of Mom is when she flew out to help me when I had my first son. She stayed for a month and gave me some precious memories of her love and care.

It’s an honor to be on SheReads, and I am thoroughly enjoying your comments. Thank you for taking the time ego share them, with a special hello to those who plan to read The Widow Waltz.
Cheers,
Sally Koslow

So sorry for Sally’s loss…my own mom is 85, doing fairly well, but I do see things starting to slip in conversations with her. I guess we, like Sally, will always have the great memories of growing up with our moms when they were younger. So glad for Heaven some day…when all will be well again!
Thanks for the opportunity to win a great summer read!

We have just started down the path of dementia with my mother in law so this story touched me for that reason. But also because it is a reminder to enjoy what we have with our parents every day. Thanks. And I would love to win and read the book!

What a wonderful tribute to your Mom. My Mom was so great at so many levels and even though she’s been gone from this earth for over 6 years now, she’s alive in my heart and soul every day. Your book sounds great. Best of luck with it.

WOW – thank YOU for taking the time to personally respond to my comment. You made my day. I totally appreciate that not everyone has been lucky to have a great relationship with their Mom – I was one of the lucky ones. I knew it while she was alive, and I keep that inside me always. Thanks for making me even more aware of it with your column. Nancy

So sorry for your loss sally…and how you lost your mom. I suppose my sisters and i were ” lucky” ( my, how the word ” lucky” morphs over time and situation). My mom, who never smoked was diagnosed with lung cancer….went through chemo, which only gave her 6 more months with our dad…her daughters and her grandchildren. We knew that we were losing her, as soon as she got her diagnosis. We were all in the room with the oncologist. Devastating….devastating….we had the storybook mom, and now we were going to lose her. We all went to chemo with her….one of us was at the house every single day. Where were we ” lucky”? She always knew that we were there….always knew us….no questions unanswered…. She was able to say goodbye to all of us plus all of her grandchildren, some of them flying in from the west coast….she died….devastating….and 22 weeks later (we each rotated every night to me with our dad , after) . He was able to go back to work after our encouragement over many weeks…worked in the vault in a bank in our town where everyone knew him) He fell in the bank taking out a customers safe deposit box…. He was 84….and two days later died in the hospital from a concussion….we were all with him… So how were we ” lucky” with our dad? He always knew us, until the end….were we lucky to have lost our precious parents within 22 weeks, speaking at each ones funerals? No, definitely, no….but we were ever so lucky to have had them, to be born into their storybook home, and to have loved them and adored them .
I dont know any of you, except sally, who might be reading what i am sharing….but her own sharing moved me so much…that i just felt like telling you about my experience, and how the word ” luck” constantly changes in life.

Thank you so much for sharing these memories of your Mom. Like you, I also had a wonderful Mother who showed her love through the cookies, cakes, and pies she baked for her family. My nieces, nephews and my children frequently talk about the wonderful way my Mom’s house always smelled of something sweet baking in the oven. I lost my Mom to Alzheimer’s two months ago. The feelings brought on by losing your Mom cannot be described to people who have never dealt with this loss. I guess that’s why I so much connected and enjoyed your beautiful story.

Thanks for sharing your story about your mom. My mom also had dementia before she passed. I know firsthand how hard it is to accept that their memories are so fragile. I can hardly wait to read your book!

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